March is fast coming to a close and that makes me think of two things. The first one is fishing season, April 1st is the official start of the fishing season. Daddy loved to fish and after we moved to Tivoli he would come to our house and go to a stream in Elizaville he especially liked. When we were kids we would help him get this bait. He would take us to Legion Pond in Glenham (now a car dealership) and he would put his homemade net in the water. It was square, as I remember it, two to three feet in diameter, and lined with a fine netting, maybe an old curtain. It was at the end of a long stick, and he would put the net in the water, letting it sink. Once it was deep enough, we would throw little pieces of bread over it, and the shiny minnows would appear, a feeding fenzy. When there were enough of them, Daddy would quickly jerk the net out of the water, and the trapped fish would be carefully put into a pail of water. Another place he got bait was on the creek near Texaco by a dam. There were a lot of rocks in the water, and he would carefully lift one and there would be a crawfish exposed, a little lobster that he placed into his special baitbox, a small wooden box with a screen top, so you could watch the crawfish in their new home. Daddy would bring home his catch, if it was a large trout, he would place it next to a ruler and take its picture, no "fish story" here. The second thing is April Fool's Day. About sixteen, seventeen years ago Timmy got me really good. It was a Friday, like this year, and we were both going to work, Timmy left before seven and I went about eight. Before he left, he put a lottery ticket on the kitchen table and said, "I didn't have a chance to check my ticket. Would you find Wednesday's paper and check the numbers?" Then he left for work. I did a few chores and then I noticed the ticket on the table and dug through the recycled papers until I found the one that listed the winning draw. I checked the first number, it matched Timmy's, the second number, the third number. My heart was pounding, every number matched. Timmy had won the lottery! It was too early to call anybody, then I remember Paul left for work around seven. I called him up, my hands shaking. He answered the phone, sleepily, I think I woke him up. "Paul, I screamed, "You have got to come over and check the numbers, I think Timmy won the lottery, he matched every f.... (I let that slip) number. Paul answered generously, "That's great he won Ma, nobody deserves it more," and said he'd be over as soon as he got dressed. I checked the numbers again and again, and then I looked at the date. It wasn't for last Wednesday, it was for the coming Saturday. Poor Timmy, he matched the numbers, but not the date. I called Paul not to come, and then I realized that I had been fooled. He knew I wouldn't check the date, just the numbers...Poor Timmy really got me good. Well, anyway, I thought, now I know how it feels to win the lottery, and I did. Happy April Fool's Day.

Happy St. Patrick's Day. Next week my classes start and one of them is titled "Dystopian Works", we are reading books about the opposite of Utopia. And Japan is a good example of this right now. But let me tell you what I read last night. I was reading Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury and this passage jumped out at me. "Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away." And a little further on "Grandfather's been dead for all these years, but if you lifted my skull, by God, in the convolutions of my brain you'd find the big ridges of his thumbprint." Now Maria left a million things, kind letters, an "invisiblity cloth" for Timmy to wear to family functions, a book for me titled "How to be a Guest at the Bird's Nest B&B", a collage of Mothers- Grandma Burky holding Bucky, Bucky, holding me, and me holding Maria.... I could go on and on, you probably could add something to the list if you knew Maria, because that was just the way she was. Three years is a long time, and it is a blink of an eye. Today is a beautiful day and I am going to wish everyone I see Happy St. Patrick's Day. God Bless. Rest in peace Maria.

Well today would have been my mother Bucky's 95th birthday. Maria loved Bucky and I think she was a lot like her in many ways. When Maria was in College a lot of her essays were about her childhood memories of Bucky and staying with her on Falconer Street, sleeping on the back porch, looking for Mr. Chase's hidden money, etc. I recently found a letter Maria had written but never mailed to her cousin John...she wrote "You remember how Grandma used to walk Poohbear - she'd always say, "Who wants to take the dog for a dump? She had a way with words!" Maria had captured Bucky in a nutshell - she had a way with words.

We could all add to the list: (1) After the fourth of July, the summer is over, (2) Show me an engaged girl, and I will show you a future bride, (3) you shit in one hand and wish in another, you know what you get first. My brother Bob remembers these two: "I know someday I will wake up dead", and a recurring dream of hers where she would wake up and say I was dreaming I was choking on a peach pit. She never could stand clothes that were too close to her neck...she would explain, "I must have been a dog in my other life, I can't stand a tight collar."

Well Happy Birthday Bucky - we miss you wisdom and your wit.